


The Room

by a_single_drop_of_ink



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Cisco ramon's parents are neglectful, Death, Family, Grieving, Grieving Cisco Ramon, Memories, Moving On, Music, Piano, Playing Piano, and awful people, implied ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 09:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_single_drop_of_ink/pseuds/a_single_drop_of_ink
Summary: “Cisco! What do you think you are doing? That room is off-limits. Can you imagine how devastated your brother would be if he came home to a room you’d ruined?”“I’ll be careful, mama. I just want to see.”“No, Cisco. You are never allowed to go in there. I will not have you destroying your brother’s room and his precious piano like you destroy everything else you touch.”“I tinker, mama, not break.”“Well those grubby hands of yours won’t be able to keep themselves from tinkering with Dante’s piano, so you cannot go in there. Don’t argue with your mother.”“Si, mama.”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Room

Cisco always woke up long before the rest of his family. Ever since he could remember, he would wake up earlier than the sun and spend those few hours of silent darkness being free to wander the house and revel in just how different the house felt without his parents around.

His parents were the main reason for him waking up so early. The dark hours of the morning were the easiest time for him to spend a few hours away from them and escape the looks they always wore.

His parents believed strongly in image and reputation, and as such spent much of their time crafting themselves and him into the perfect image of a family for some invisible audience to enjoy.

This also meant that his parents weren’t verbally expressive by any means. Especially when it came to their disapproval. No, Cisco’s parent’s preferred to express such things with meaningful looks and pointed glances in his direction.

After all, when it came to Cisco, disdain and disapproval were all he ever saw on their faces.

It hadn’t taken long for him to learn to avoid looking people in the eye. It was the only way he knew to avoid the crushing pain in his chest that always came from seeing that look.

And once he’d stopped looking at them, it became all too easy for them to stop caring about him, completely ignoring and abandoning him except for the times they got to spend telling him how little they cared for what he was doing.

No kid wants to be so utterly abandoned, not by anyone and especially not by his parents. So he did the logical thing and started seeking attention anywhere and everywhere he could. It didn’t matter the kind of attention. Anything to get them to look at him some other way, or look at him at all some days. 

That was how he found himself in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, standing in front of a door that had been locked and off-limits to him for almost 8 years. 

One hand rested on the cold, smooth doorknob, barely visible in the ambient light cast by the moon and streetlights that shone through the open curtains on windows around the house. 

The other hand held the key, white knuckled and shaking slightly as it raised it and inserted it into the lock.

_“Cisco!”_ The sharp voice of his mother rang in his head as the memory of the last time he had stood there sprang unbidden to his mind. 

_“What do you think you are doing? That room is off-limits. Can you imagine how devastated your brother would be if he came home to a room you’d ruined?”_

_“I’ll be careful, mama. I just want to see.”_

_“No, Cisco. You are never allowed to go in there. I will not have you destroying your brother’s room and his precious piano like you destroy everything else you touch.”_

_“I tinker, mama, not break.”_

_“Well those grubby hands of yours won’t be able to keep themselves from tinkering with Dante’s piano, so you cannot go in there. Don’t argue with your mother.”_

_“Si, mama.”_

The hand that held the key curled around it even tighter, determination setting his jaw as in one swift movement he twisted the key and swung the door open with a soft snick.

The curtains of the room were drawn over the windows, cutting off even the soft light from outside, and the light from the rest of the windows was too weak to reach inside.

Cisco took a deep breath, then one step forward into the near solid wall of pitch black that awaited him inside.

He froze, as that single step sent a plume of dust billowing up from the floor, right into the lungs that had just taken another deep breath to calm himself. His hands flew to cover his nose and mouth, trying desperately to stifle the half-coughs into sputters and choking, praying as fast as he could that his parents wouldn’t hear.

After way too many heart-wrenching moments, his coughing subsided into the occasional huff, and he carefully lowered his hands to the collar of his pj shirt, eyes wide as he strained his ears for any sign of his parents waking.

Minutes passed, then more, almost twenty minutes going by before he was satisfied that he was safe.

He pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth to protect them from the dust and stepped forward once more. 

He now strained his eyes, opening them as wide as possible to try and see even the faintest glimmer of light in the solid black room.

There.

In the very back, where the window was, he could see the crack in the curtains where moonlight almost peeked through. If he could open them the rest of the way, he’d be able to see the room and everything inside.

Now all he had to do was make it across to said window.

What he did next could only be described as a crab flailing its arms around in some sort of ritualistic drunken dance, as Cisco placed one hand on the wall to his right and carefully worked his way around the dark chamber, his other arm waving around in front of him to let him know if he ran into anything. His knees were bent almost in a complete squat as he slid his feet forward one at a time, using them much like his arm to feel the space before him.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he worked his way around the room, somehow making it to the window without issue, throwing open the curtains to bathe the room in silver moonlight.

He knew this room like the back of his hand, the colors of it, though washed out in the dim light, burned into his mind to overlay the black and white image before him. 

Along one wall sat the dusty and moth-ridden bed, its sheets once a deep red with a charcoal grey comforter laid across it and four fluffy grey and red pillows, now flat and mildewy. 

Across from the bed was the bookshelf, its magazines and novels littered with dust and water damage, the rich wood of the shelf itself reduced to a fraction of its former stability. Beside the bookshelf sat his dresser, an alarm clock with a blank face and a folder of music sitting on top of it.

And there, in the very center of the room, what had made Cisco hug the wall so closely as he crossed the room, dust glittering like stars on the barely illuminated black surface: his brother’s pride and joy.

His piano.

Cisco could just see his brother playing it right then and there, pudgy 8-year-old fingers somehow graceful as they danced delicately across the keys. 

Dante was laughing. His head was thrown back, his face wide with joy as his feet danced with his fingers to the Pink Panther song he had learned just for Cisco. The song stopped rather abruptly in the middle as Dante raised one hand from the keys to wave Cisco over, pointing at the piano bench beside him. 

Cisco followed in a trance, sitting down beside him and staring at the smile on his brother’s face. He followed his brother’s gaze to the covered keys of the piano before him. He swallowed and carefully lifted the cover, the wood creaking horribly with age and abuse.

He looked back to his brother, to that smile.

Dante nodded to the keys and Cisco hesitated for just a moment before he scooted over so the memory of his brother overlaid him exactly, his legs where Dante’s were, his head bent just the same, his fingers slotting into place over the phantom of his brother’s hands, splayed across ebony and ivory that shone like jewels in the moonlight.

Cisco closed his eyes and pressed down on one of those keys, the ivory smooth and cold beneath his fingertips.

The note rang out soft and flat, jarringly different to the sound he had foolishly been expecting. It was nothing like the clear crisp notes that Dante could always coax out of even the most stubborn of instruments, no matter how horribly out of tune they were.

Cisco let his hands fall limp and slip from the keys to fall to his sides.

What was he even doing there?

This wasn’t going to bring his brother home.

He opened his eyes and took one last look at the piano keys before shutting the cover again, the creaking just as loud as before, though this time he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He scooted over to the side of the bench and stared at his hands that tingle and burned for a reason he couldn’t quite place.

It had been 8 years. Almost a decade had passed and he had no idea what he was doing there.

He turned to look at the memory of his brother beside him, that 7-year-old part of him still looking to his big brother for guidance.

He could see Dante beside him as if he were real, and more than a small part of Cisco wished he was.

Dante turned to look at him in return, that politely bemused smile on his face that their parents loved and Cisco hated more than anything.

Maybe that was why he spoke.

“Did you know?” Cisco’s question was hardly more than a scratchy whisper. He swallowed hard, trying to bring even the smallest amount of moisture to his dry mouth. His fingers gripped the edge of the piano bench beneath him to ground him. “When you woke up that morning, did you know? Did you walk out that door to go to your friend’s house with a goodbye that broke your heart when you said it to me? Did you choke when you told mama you loved her?” Cisco’s voice, which had grown louder with each question till he was all but demanding an answer from his brother’s memory, cracked and he fell silent. His eyes searched Dante’s, scanning the face Cisco knew better than his own.

“Did you find it?” He finally spoke, words once again that breathless whisper. “That place you had been looking for? That beauty you couldn’t see in this world? Did you find the happiness you promised me existed somewhere out there? I hope so. I hope you are happy, I really do. You should know I could never blame you. I know you carried a burden on your shoulders that you never let me see. I could, though. That was all I could see. I knew your burden better than I knew you. I never really knew you; you left before I could. Maybe if you had stayed, you could have known me too. You could have watched me grow. Because I have, Dante. I’ve grown so much and you are still that little 8-year-old boy with the wild heart that couldn’t bear the situation he was in. Its not fair!” Cisco shouted, realizing what he had done only after the words were out of his mouth. His hands slapped over his mouth in horror as he listened with a held breath for signs of his parents. 

None came and he turned his attention back to his brother, hands falling limp and tired to his lap as his voice lost its emotion as well. “I was never supposed to grow older than you. That wasn’t how it worked. They used to tell me I looked just like you, you know. And now all they can say is that you would have looked just like me.”

Cisco stared emptily at the hands in his lap, tears streaming freely down his face where no one was near to see. 

A small, pale hand reached over to cover one of his palms, the whole hand a mere fraction of the size of Cisco’s, and he turned to see his brother smiling at him again.

But this wasn’t his Parent Smile. This was _his_ smile. The one Dante saved just for his little brother.

Cisco was ashamed to admit that he didn’t remember much of his big brother, and yet what he did remember he did so as if it had happened just hours before. 

He remembered the piano, bright as day. He remembered how proud their parents always were of his brother. And he remembered that smile.

Their parents had taught them both how to smile and Dante always smiled their smile when he was around them. But when he and Cisco were alone, Cisco always got to see the real Dante smiling through that forced image, real joy written for him to see.

He missed that smile.

He missed his brother.

He gave Dante a smile back, his considerably shallower, and spent a few moments recommitting every last detail of his brother to memory. This was his brother’s memory, and he’d be damned if he forgot it.

This piano, that boy, this room, they were all his brother’s memory. They were all he had left.

What was he doing there?

He stood up abruptly, one hand coming up to rub furiously at his eyes, erasing any emotion that he had let slip while he’d been there, while the other shoved the bench beneath the piano.

He staggered out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind him, just in time for his legs to give out and send him slumping to the floor.

He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the door of the room he had just left.

The door of the room that was his brother’s.

The room he had been trying to use to get attention.

His hands, the ones that had touched and played the piano, felt dirty and a bitter taste bloomed on his tongue.

That was his brother’s memory he was using, abusing.

He had no right.

Mama was right, he broke everything he touched and he had had the audacity to touch his brother’s memory.

He couldn’t break that, he didn’t want to break it, he couldn’t handle breaking it. 

And yet he had come so very close to twisting it into an excuse for his parent’s attention.

What was he doing?

Dante deserved better than that.

Cisco peeled himself off the door, slipping the key back into his pocket as he staggered towards the kitchen to make himself some breakfast and pretend that morning had never happened.

He spent the rest of the day trying to ignore that room, trying to forget it even existed.

Just like he had forgotten to close the curtains on the window of the room.

Curtains that hung, unbeknownst to anyone in the house, wide open, letting sunlight spill in and warm the dead room, and the soul of the boy to whom it belonged, for the first time in 8 years. 

That day ended, and as the next morning came around, despite everything telling him otherwise, Cisco found himself back at that room, waiting just outside with a key in one hand and the knob in the other.

He entered again, sat back down at that piano bench, and talked to his brother.

Then he did it again.

And again.

He just kept coming.

He had no idea what drew him back every morning, but each day, in that hour before dawn, he would visit his brother’s room, tell his story to no one, and leave again as if nothing had happened.

And every morning Dante would smile Cisco’s smile as his brother sat beside him and talked and talked, as if 8 years had never passed and they were once again two brothers finding solace in one another in a world that had never let them find it anywhere else.


End file.
